Given the Chance
by meliz875
Summary: "Standing some kind of ridiculous, silent vigil at the end of his bed, Quil swore he still saw the outline of her body against the wrinkled sheets. She was gone, but the memories from the night before remained..."


**Title**: Given the Chance

**Pairing**: Quil/Leah

**Genre**: Romance with a dash of angst, of the self-deprecating variety

_**Based on the quote prompt, "You left."**_

**_Suggested Listening: "Given the Chance" by The Kite String Tangle_**

Happy Friday, all! I had this little gem sitting in my files collecting dust, so I thought I'd post it for the hell of it. Because it's Friday. What other reason do we need, right? ;) Hope you enjoy!

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He stood at the foot of his unkempt bed, arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, his frame stiff and stoic.

He woke up a half hour earlier, expecting to feel her heat beside him, to smell the traces of vanilla and jasmine from her shampoo.

Instead, he felt nothing but cold. Opening his eyes only confirmed what he already knew.

She left.

Yet, standing some kind of ridiculous, silent vigil at the end of his bed, Quil swore he still saw the outline of her body against the wrinkled sheets.

She was gone, but the memories from the night before remained.

He didn't understand why she left, but at the same time, _he did_ …

It wasn't the first time something like that happened. It wasn't the first time he took a girl home, only to wake up in the morning to find his bed empty and abandoned. Quil was never the poster child of chastity, and he wasn't much of a romantic because he usually wasn't looking for a long-term commitment. What was the point? His life, his duty, his responsibilities to the pack and tribe left too many things to explain to normal women. It left too many unanswered questions.

There _was _no point, not really, so it never bothered him when the girls left long before dawn.

It never bothered him they never seemed interested in a long-term commitment either—at least not with him.

But this time, it _did _bother him—more than he anticipated.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in his gut, a feeling of dread—of something closely resembling loss—sitting smack in the middle of his chest.

_Fuck, he wanted her to still be there when he woke up …_

Inhaling deeply, it all came back to him.

A few too many drinks around the bonfire in Sam and Emily's backyard was all it took for Quil's perception to shift to a quiet wonder about what it might be like, if the looks she sometimes gave him—looks that lingered too long on patrol or at a pack meeting—could turn into something tangible.

If there actually was something behind those looks …

Dancing a few feet from the flames, she and Bella—who passed the point of tipsy hours earlier—kept time to a rhythm that somehow matched the way the shadows swayed across their figures. When the song ended, the two women threw their arms around each other, laughing at something only they understood.

Quil smiled. It was all he _could _do when she laughed.

He smiled a lot when her eyes turned away, because he knew if she saw, there would be no _wondering _if there was more to it.

A few minutes later, she excused herself from the gathering, meeting his eyes for a split, inexplicable second before disappearing into the house. Quil took a deep breath, his stare following her, some half-assed plan forming in his head. After one last breath and downing a final shot of whiskey—holding nothing but a blind hope he read her gaze right and maybe the alcohol would give him that last shred of courage he needed—Quil went for broke.

As he stood to follow her, it took everything in his power to ignore Paul's scoff, even though the other man refused to look at him.

"She's out of your league, man …"

It was in the back of his mind. It was _always _in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. He had to.

The rest was somehow a perfectly clear blur.

She didn't turn him away. She didn't say no when he met her coming out of the back hallway of the house. She didn't glance away when he finally allowed his eyes to linger the way he did when she wasn't looking.

Quil was never good at words, and he hoped with every-fucking-thing inside him he said what he needed to in the silence.

Regardless, she must have understood as she took a step forward, suddenly standing in front of him. Reaching up, she grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt, pulling him toward her and letting him do the rest as his mouth roughly covered hers.

They didn't go back to the bonfire, and what happened when they made it to his crappy apartment above his family's grocery store was nothing like he expected…

Fuck, it was _so much more_.

He loved her in those moments, the best way he knew how. He fucking worshipped every inch of her flawless bronze skin—with his lips, tasting the spot where her shoulder met her neck; with his fingers, tracing the space behind her knee, the inside of her thigh.

And she reciprocated with an enthusiasm Quil didn't expect—one he didn't understand.

He liked her.

He _really _liked her—he always had.

Maybe that's why, in his mind, the other women never understood. Maybe that's why they were never enough, and it took that moment—the one where, lying beneath him, her eyelids fluttered closed after she peered up at him in uncharacteristic awe, a small, satiated smile resting on her lips—for it to click and the full gravity of it to settle somewhere inside him.

_It was her …_

_She _was who he wanted.

But Quil was an idiot.

He was an idiot, because he never told her. He never _tried _to tell her, and he never gave her a reason to believe he was anything _besides _what he was with all the others.

He never let her or anyone else know that he wanted _more _than someone to warm his fucking bed, more than someone to soothe a phantom loneliness those in the pack with imprints and mates never felt.

She understood that loneliness, too, yet Paul was right—she was completely out of his league. She was funny and smart and strong and beautiful …

_Fuck_, she was beautiful.

The night before only reinforced to him exactly how beautiful she was.

She was all those things, but now, she was gone.

And Quil couldn't blame her for leaving, because he was positive she knew that, too.

Which meant she deserved so much more than him.

Blinking, he let his head clear, his arms falling to his sides as he tried to ignore the defeat twisting his insides. He shouldn't have thought about it. He shouldn't have got his hopes up.

He should have left well enough alone.

_He should have …_

But somehow, as he turned away from the bed and started toward the kitchen on the opposite side of the room, the mantra dissipated in his head the moment he heard footsteps on the landing outside the door.

The moment he heard the door open.

Somehow, he stopped when Leah Clearwater swept through the entry, precariously balancing two to-go coffee cups in one hand and hanging on to a small box in the other. She was still wearing the clothes she had on the night before—tattered, denim shorts and a loose grey t-shirt that fell off one shoulder. Her hair was piled high on top of her head in a disheveled mess.

_Still so fucking beautiful … _

He froze, blinking in disbelief, all apprehension inside him dissolving the second her eyes met his.

She didn't smile, though, as she closed the door with her hip. Instead, she eyed him warily, making her way across the short distance between her and Quil's kitchen table.

"So, I walked down to the marina cafe and got coffee and donuts," she ventured, glancing away as she sat her haul on the table. "Was hoping to be back before you woke up, because really, god help any man who crosses me before I've had my caffeine in the morning."

Quil blinked again, his lips parting. He knew he needed to say something, but he was too filled with _other _things—with surprise, with shock, with an inexplicable elation. He couldn't pinpoint which one to simply _feel_.

Leah peered back at him. "Maple bacon donuts, Quil …" she continued slowly, trying to pressure a word from his uncooperative tongue with the promise of rich, calorie-filled baked goods.

Quil's upper lip twitched, fighting a smile the rest of him clearly thought was premature.

That time, Leah frowned. She straightened, one hand obstinately finding her hip. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Blinking again, Quil's head cleared as he finally found the words, knowing he needed to speak before she actually _did_ turn around, walk out his door, and never come back.

"You—you were gone," he stuttered, wide-eyed.

Leah gaped, unsure of his point. "I got coffee…"

"Yeah, but…" Quil murmured, unable to hold her gaze longer. He glanced over her shoulder and out the window. "I thought you left."

He looked back in time to see Leah frown, her expression perplexed. It took a moment, but eventually her eyes lightened, the creases in her forehead smoothing as she suddenly realized why Quil was so inexplicably wound up. Huffing a deep breath, she followed it with a small, gentle smile.

One he never saw before …

Quil's eyes fixed on her as she moved, approaching him. Her smile remained until she was right in front of him, looking directly into his eyes.

Trying not to get lost in the power of her gaze, Quil glanced down as she reached up. He studied the soft curve of her mouth, the way she bit her lip, releasing it after a single moment.

He watched her press one hand softly against his chest, the fingers of her other weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He smiled then, just as Leah pushed up on her tiptoes, pulling him to meet her as he closed his eyes and she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was different than ones from the night before. It was softer, more tender. Her lips moved softly, gingerly, against his, filling Quil with a reassurance he would never ask for—not on his own.

But somehow, she knew he needed it anyway because it carried with it a promise he wasn't expecting.

Pulling away long before he wanted her to, Quil opened his eyes as Leah sighed, pressing her forehead against his.

She peered into his eyes, and Quil couldn't help but laugh at the flustered expression of disbelief and amusement plastered across her features.

That part of Leah made sense to him.

Those were the parts he liked most about her, even if that part in particular confirmed at least one thing he'd let bother him before she walked back through the door.

That maybe he _was _an idiot who let his insecurities get the better of him, but maybe it didn't matter.

Because standing in front of him, there was light in her eyes as she smiled, letting Quil know maybe she already knew just how big an idiot he was.

And maybe she didn't care.

Maybe those were the parts she liked most about him, too.

"Took you long enough to get your shit together and make a move, dummy," she murmured, grinning, poking him playfully in the ribs as she stepped away. "So … why would I leave now?"

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End file.
